Pocket Fisherman

Pockets full
Pocket book
Going fishing
With a hook

Cast a line
In his pocket
What he found
A rusty locket

Rusty locket
Her young face
Left him stranded
Left in haste

No remorse
Out his door
Jaw hung open
And hit the floor

Wallet empty
Wallet bare
Moths flew out
They were scared

Heart a wallet
Nothing left
Now she's gone
He's bereft

What's the use
Gave up living
Pain's a gift
That keeps on giving

Lint and moths
Pocket rust
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: